Hot Boss - Anne Marsh Page 0,50
rodeo tonight. We’ll go there, check out this Evan, and I’ll see if I can have a couple of words with Molly.”
“She’s not going to want to talk about this,” she murmurs.
“Then she shouldn’t have a rebound cowboy.”
“Mmm.”
It’s an excellent plan, but she’s frowning at me.
“You think I overlooked something.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re thinking it.”
“What if Molly’s genuinely happy?”
“With a cowboy? Molly doesn’t like horses. Or cows. Or anything else you find on a ranch.”
Except, apparently, for cowboys. Judging by her Pinterest, she definitely likes cowboys. I’m not sure what it is about a man in boots and a hat with a sweet spot for ladies that appeals. Huh. Put that way, why wouldn’t Molly choose a cowboy for my replacement?
Hazel squeezes my knee, her thumb sweeping back and forth. It tickles, but it also feels good. She casts a glance at the closed door that separates us from the cockpit.
“How private is your jet?” she asks.
She makes jet sound downright dirty. I laugh and twist so I can see her face. “Not that private.”
“You’re not a member of the mile-high club?”
“Nope.”
“Do you want to be?” Her hand slides up.
I capture her fingers with mine. “Do you really want to play naked sardines in an airline bathroom?”
Hazel makes a face. “Don’t we get a bigger bathroom on this thing?”
“Not that big.” I drop a kiss on top of her head. I doubt that she’s really issuing an invitation to have a quickie at forty thousand feet.
Plus, Hazel is a nervous flyer. She usually takes a chill pill before boarding, which means that we never schedule same-day business meetings for her as she needs time to “turn her brain back on.” I’m not sure what her doctor’s prescribing, but she’s definitely not anxious right now. In fact, she seems totally relaxed.
Maybe she’s too comfortable.
“Plan B,” she says. “You make me come.”
Turns out she’s not taking any chances. With a sharp grin, she grabs my hand and puts it exactly where she wants it. It’s like I’m her very own magic rabbit toy.
I’m not quite sure if she’s teasing me or not. I mean, she’s definitely teasing, but does she want me to do something more? We’re not exactly private here, even if we’re alone. I also haven’t made out on a plane in years and even then it was just kisses in first class. There’s probably some kind of single-guy etiquette that covers this situation but I’m not sure what it is.
“Hold that thought,” she announces.
Wait—what?
There’s no thinking happening, at least not on my part. Even though our flight will be short, she’s wearing clothing meant for relaxing on the plane—some kind of very clingy matching knit set. The fabric’s soft beneath my fingertips, although that’s not the reason I stroke gently back and forth. I love touching Hazel. The pants and leggings are a perfectly tame, muted gray, and I can’t help but notice that there’s no visible panty line. Is she commando? I’m immediately distracted from that avenue of inquiry, however, because when she leans down to rummage in her bag, the material hugs her boobs and does insane things to her ass. Plus, my hand’s shoved against her crotch in the best ever Hazel sandwich.
A creamy strip of skin is visible above the waist of her leggings. Naked. She’s most definitely naked underneath. I bite back a groan. My dick has been hard since we boarded the plane and this isn’t helping the situation in my pants. Fortunately, I have about thirty-five minutes to make Mr. Happy less...happy.
Without missing a beat, she snags something from her purse by our feet—a cashmere throw I’ve seen dozens if not hundreds of times before. It’s Hazel’s constant companion on every flight because she’s always cold, and on more than one occasion I’ve heard her vow undying love to it. With a flick of her wrist, she drapes it over us.
Hiding the evidence.
She’s the smartest woman on the planet and my hand’s still on her crotch.
I do my part and grab the remote, dimming the cabin lights. The pilots probably won’t come out and I know for a fact that there are no security cameras in the cabin, but it never hurts to play things safe. Neither of us wants to read about horny billionaire business partners getting inducted into the mile-high club on one of the online gossip sites. The media sucks sometimes and this would be far too much click bait for them to pass up.
“Yes?” I run my thumb